I saw you at the coffee shop
several months ago.
I pulled out a chair and you walked in.
Your hair was full of snow.
Five years ago I told you
that I never would forget
the concerts, secrets, artwork shared,
the goodbye found at the end.
I figured you'd forget our friendship
and move on, just as you do,
and you'd find a quick replacement,
swapping "indigo" for "blue."
I still don't know if you remembered
when you looked at me that day -
I had a ponytail, black coat, white gloves,
and I stood near the stairway.
But in the instant that you saw me -
your eyes familiar gray -
I looked down at my coffee
and walked away.